Chapter 3 – That Seat Was Always Yours

After the final bell rang, the classroom erupted in motion.

Chairs scraped. Backpacks zipped. The air filled with the rustle of books being closed, snacks being unwrapped, and casual weekend plans being made. Outside the windows, the rain had finally stopped, leaving behind puddles in the concrete courtyard that mirrored the soft gold of the late afternoon sun.

Yichen remained seated, packing his things slowly. He wasn’t in a rush.

He never was.

“Let’s go!” Suyin said, appearing beside his desk. “If we don’t leave now, the shop near the school gate will run out of curry fish balls.”

Yichen looked up. “You just ate two buns earlier.”

“That was lunch. This is post-school snack time,” she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He stood without arguing, slinging his bag over one shoulder. The hallway outside was packed with students moving in every direction — some heading to clubs, others to tutoring, and some already halfway to the gates. It was noisy, but warm in a familiar way.

Suyin walked ahead, her bag bouncing lightly on her back. Yichen followed just behind, staying close enough to hear her but far enough not to get pulled into every conversation she started on the way.

They stopped briefly at the school store. It was a tiny booth wedged between two stairwells, manned by a sleepy old man and surrounded by rows of snacks, drinks, and pens with anime characters on them.

Suyin bought two sticks of curry fish balls and handed one to Yichen without asking. “You need to eat something spicy once in a while. Wake up your senses.”

He took it without replying, but the smell made his stomach flutter. Maybe it was the warmth. Or maybe it was her.

Outside, they sat on a low cement wall under the basketball hoop. The net was broken, hanging by one thread, and the court was still damp.

A group of boys from Class 3-2 were playing anyway, their sneakers squeaking loudly on the wet concrete. One slipped and laughed it off while another chased after the ball.

Suyin watched them for a moment, then turned to Yichen.

“So,” she said, mouth half full, “do you think I should find out who wrote that crane note?”

His fingers twitched slightly. “You’re still thinking about it?”

“Of course! Don’t you think it’s romantic?”

He stayed quiet.

She continued, “I mean, I don’t like not knowing, but it’s kind of fun. A secret admirer? Like, that only happens in dramas.”

Yichen looked down at his curry stick, poking at the last fish ball.

“What if they never tell you?”

“Then I guess… I’ll keep guessing.”

She tilted her head, thoughtful.

“But… I hope they do,” she added softly. “It feels… a little sad, otherwise.”

Yichen didn’t know what to say to that.

A gust of wind passed through, picking up a few fallen leaves. One landed near his shoe. He stared at it, heart heavier than before.

“Do you want it to be someone in our class?” he asked, voice low.

Suyin smiled. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not.”

Her tone was too light, too open. And suddenly, Yichen realized something:

She wasn’t looking for him.

Not even a little.

He turned away before his thoughts betrayed his face.

They sat in silence after that. The sun lowered. The noise of the schoolyard faded as more students went home. Only the boys playing basketball remained, their laughter echoing through the emptying yard.

Eventually, Suyin stood and stretched.

“I have cram school,” she said, frowning. “It sucks. My mom signed me up without asking.”

Yichen stood as well. “Do you want me to walk you to the bus stop?”

She looked surprised, then nodded. “Yeah… if you don’t mind.”

They walked in silence for a while.

The streets around the school were always busy after class — vendors selling fried dough sticks and iced fruit tea, students in uniforms laughing with friends, older women riding by on motorbikes with giant umbrellas tied to the handles.

Yichen kept his hands in his pockets.

He wanted to say something — anything — but his thoughts kept curling inward like smoke. He had known her since their first year. They had sat next to each other since middle school. She borrowed his pens. She stole his erasers. She leaned on his desk when she was bored. And somehow, through all of that, he had never once told her how he felt.

Because some things… were safer left unsaid.

When they reached the bus stop, Suyin turned to him and smiled.

“Thanks, Yichen.”

He nodded.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He nodded again.

She waved before stepping onto the bus. He watched her through the window as she found a seat, pulling out her phone, her face glowing softly from the screen. A moment later, the bus pulled away, and she was gone.

Yichen stood still for a while.

The street lights flickered on, one by one.

Then he turned around and walked home, his heart heavier than his bag.

That night, Yichen sat at his desk with the lights off.

The only light in the room came from his small desk lamp, casting soft shadows across the pages of his notebook. His computer was on, the desktop showing a paused screen from an old pixel RPG game — a town square scene with cheerful music still playing faintly in the background.

He reached for a piece of paper, folded it into a small crane, and stared at it in his palm.

It was simple. Clean. Nothing special.

But to him, it meant everything.

He placed it gently in his drawer, closed it, and turned back to the screen.

The in-game bell rang in the background.

Ding dong. The town square clock strikes six.

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